


Providence

by bumblebeesknees



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sleeping Beauty Fusion, Fairy Tale Retellings, Happy Ending, M/M, True Love's Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 18:57:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10973349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bumblebeesknees/pseuds/bumblebeesknees
Summary: Alec Lightwood is prophesized to bring about the end of the demonic wars before he turns thirty. This lands him with a curse when he's only four days old, one that haunts his life thereafter. If Magnus Bane hadn't intervened when he did, however - the outcome would've been much, much worse.-Before the curse can bind itself to Alec’s bright, fledgling soul, however, Magnus seizes the dark magic and turns it into something softer; something kinder.“I don’t have the power to prevent this evil from touching your heart, little angel,” he murmurs, looking at this helpless creature’s terrified face and how it’s turned red with the exertion of his frightened screams. An aching tenderness pushes out the air from Magnus’ lungs. “But I can make it so that when the darkness reaches you, instead of death you will fall into a deep sleep. It will give you time to be founded by love, which is the only thing that can set you free.”





	Providence

**Author's Note:**

> i initially wrote this as a series of headcanons for day 2: disney au, of malec week and cleaned it up to post as a proper fic! the style of the piece definitely has the feel of a fairy tale imo, so hopefully this will help indulge anyone looking for a grand, sweeping romance and a love strong enough to win wars and break curses. :D

i. 

When Alec Lightwood is born, multiple oracles across Idris cite the same prophecy: this is the child who, before his thirtieth birthday, will lead them to the final victory against the demons. Robert and Maryse, the Marquess and Marchioness of Alicante, throw a celebration in his honour and invite the most powerful beings across the lands to gift him with the traits he will need to fulfil his destiny. 

Zachariah, a Silent Brother, blesses Alec with unparalleled skill with the blade and the bow; the Seelie Queen, mysterious and beautiful, blesses him with a keen mind for strategy. They grant these precious treasures to him through a kiss to the forehead and Alec, with all the sweetness of a new born child, laughs delightedly as the magic glows and engulfs him in gold.

The High Warlock Magnus Bane doesn’t usually care for the tedious rituals of the nephilim, but he figures this is the one time to make an exception – and good thing he does, because the ceremony is interrupted by one of their most feared enemies: the greater demon Abaddon. Despite his size, Abaddon is known for his great speed and he manages to reach baby Alexander with ease and he gathers his magic to cast a curse: that Alec Lightwood will not live to see his twenty-fifth birthday come to pass and with his death, so will die the hope of victory for the side of the light.

Before the curse can bind itself to Alec’s bright, fledgling soul, however, Magnus seizes the dark magic and turns it into something softer; something kinder. 

“I don’t have the power to prevent this evil from touching your heart, little angel,” he murmurs, looking at this helpless creature’s terrified face and how it’s turned red with the exertion of his frightened screams. An aching tenderness pushes out the air from Magnus’ lungs. “But I can make it so that when the darkness reaches you, instead of death you will fall into a deep sleep. It will give you time to be founded by love, which is the only thing that can set you free.”

It’s the best that Magnus can do with his lesser strength, despite the desperate pleas from Alec’s family. The ceremony ends in terrible, sombre note. The future that seemed so bright and shining for those four, glorious days since Alec’s birth is suddenly thrown once again into uncertainty. 

No one hears from Magnus again for the next two decades. The people of Idris return to their lives, and Alec Lightwood starts on the path set out before him. 

“You’ll make us all proud, Alec,” says Maryse, hand cupping his cheek. “It’s what you were born to do.”

 

ii.

Over the years, Alec grows up to be an incomparable warrior. His heart is so strong and good and kind that people whisper that perhaps this is one of the magical gifts blessed upon him at birth. (It’s not). Every day, the knowledge of his impending death weighs on Alec’s shoulders but it doesn’t hinder him as it’s all he’s ever known. It’s a constant hum at the back of his mind and it doesn’t stop him from fighting – and winning – his battles and being there for his family, for the people of his country. If anyone wonders about how Alec finds the will, the answer is in front of him daily: he’ll charge into his death with eyes wide open if it means giving Izzy and Jace and Max and all the uncountable beating hearts of this land just one more day of life.  


Sometime during the fall of Alec’s twenty-fourth year, just six months shy of his prophesized demise, there is a siege on Alicante. Alec leads the forces as he has always done since he turned eighteen, seraph blade in hand and Jace at his side. Even as they massacre their way through the demons, Alec can see that there are far too many of them – even if they win this one, the cost on their numbers will be too high. It’ll leave them wide open for the next wave of attacks, and if a greater demon makes their presence known during that time – even the seelies and warlocks who are their allies won’t be able to hold them off.  


Alec doesn’t rely on miracles, but he definitely prays for one right then – not for his own life which has all but come to an end, but for every other brave soldier on the battlefield who are following him.  


And then, as though a divine being has caught wind of Alec’s prayers, something amazing happens: blue fire burns through the crowd and burns the rest of the demons to ash. Alec turns around, bracing himself against his sword and sees someone standing in the middle of the grounds; even from the distance he can see the man’s eyes glowing gold. All the magic of the universe is in those irises and yet he’s looking back at Alec across the carnage as though within the infinite and ever expanding cosmos, Alec is in the center of it all. 

Later, after the battle’s been won and the wards of the city have been renewed, Alec rushes through the halls of the castle seeking this man. He’s still in his armour and his hair is soaked with sweat and ichor and the blood of the fallen but he can’t waste the time it’ll take to get cleaned up: because this is Magnus Bane, and if the legends surrounding him are true – and it must be, if the prophecy guiding Alec’s whole life is true – then Alec doesn’t want to wait a single more second finding him.

And find him Alec does, swathed in blue and maroon and sitting on a tall backed chair with all the elegance of a king. It knocks the breath out of Alec. Even in a world of angels and demons and magic, Alec’s never understood this idea of love at first sight – and this is Alec’s first time seeing him, in all the ways that matter – but the startled expression on Magnus’ face, the kohl around his eyes and the way he looks up at Alec through his long, heavy lashes – there’s no doubt that something fundamental changes in Alec’s heart, cracks it open and sends it spinning out of orbit.

“Hi,” he says, the world shifting beneath his feet. When Magnus stands up Alec finds himself suddenly unsure, the ability to string together words disappearing from his head and a lump appearing in his throat. He almost wants to take a step back when Magnus starts to move forward, something terribly soft in his gaze, but Alec Lightwood doesn’t run away from fear of the unknown. “Hi – I’m Alec. Lightwood. I’m Alec Lightwood.”

Magnus’ voice, when Alec hears it for the first time, could be that of a siren. “Hello Alexander,” he says, and with that – with that they start.

 

iii. 

When Magnus hears about the siege in Alicante, he’s aware that it’s just mere months before the prophecy would be taking effect and baby Alexander – who must surely now be a man, living everyday with an axe hovering above his neck – would find out whether the magic of a High Warlock was enough to save his life. He portals himself outside the gates of the city of glass and has only a moment to survey the decimated battleground when his eyes are drawn to the most extraordinary soul he’s ever seen: standing at the centrefold of the battle, a spirit glows so bright in Magnus’ eyes it’s as though a drop of the sun has fallen to earth and housed itself in this body of flesh and bone and - and Magnus knows that this, this must be Alexander.  


Later, Magnus almost convinces himself that he is remembering it wrong because how is it possible for a spirit so radiant to exist? But having the man standing before him – so tall and handsome and still in his armour, charmingly flustered and out of breath – Magnus knows that what he had seen was just a sliver of it.  


Alec starts with, “Thank you, for your help out there today.” He’s already speaking in a quiet voice but his next words are softer still, “And – and thank you, for what you did for me before. Making it so I had a chance of surviving Abaddon’s curse.”  


“Well, the fate of the world did, and still does, depend on it,” is Magnus’ blithe response, but when Alec laughs – and it’s a brief, hesitant thing, rarer and lovelier still than the lights of the northern skies – Magnus thinks, _oh_. This - this is unexpected. “Well, when you put it that way,” says Alec, running a nervous hand through his mess of hair and again – _oh_ , says the stutter of Magnus’ heart. He may have had centuries to build up his defenses but at this moment Magnus is abruptly, viscerally aware of a gaping weakness he had never thought to fortify himself against. How could he have known that he would need to? 

To the war council, Magnus discloses that he is here to defend Alicante until they pass the horizon of the prophecy – until Alec turns twenty-five. There are many favors he has gathered over the years, explains Magnus, which he’s ready to call upon to lend assistance in these last critical months. “And then?” asks Victor Aldertree, eyes intent on Magnus, “What will you do if that time passes and we have yet to be victorious, and Alec Lightwood is under either your spell or Abaddon’s? Disappear again another twenty years and leave to the mercy of the demons?”

Alec responds before Magnus has the chance: “Since this isn’t his fight and doesn’t have to be help us at all,” he says carefully, “let’s be gracious for the High Warlock’s generosity. The Clave can try things differently once I’m gone. Until then–” he shifts his attention, “Magnus, what have you heard about the demons’ upcoming movements?” 

Afterward, Magnus touches Alec’s arm and says, “You didn’t have to undermine your general on my behalf – I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.” Confused, Alec responds, “I’m sure you do, but what does that have to do with anything? It doesn’t matter if they only follow my leadership because of what the oracles predicted – as long as they have me in charge, you will be treated with respect.” 

Magnus is silent for a long moment. When he finally breaks it, it’s to say, “I don’t think the prophecy is why they’re following you, Alexander.”

 

iv.

Over the next few weeks it becomes apparent that there’s something different in the air with Magnus roaming the halls. A renewed hope, maybe, a crackling of energy – and that’s not even considering Alec himself, who wakes up each day eager to see what the coming hours will bring: already the strategy sessions in the war room have made Alec all too aware of Magnus’ keen, brilliant mind. The hours bent over scrolls of ancient cartographers of the underworld have made him just as aware of the curve of Magnus’ neck, the way he traces paths across faded parchment with the tip of a painted finger.  


It’s electrifying being around Magnus, in a way Alec’s never experienced before. Like all the nerve endings in his body’s been set alight whenever Magnus is near and by the angel, Alec’s around him _all the time._  


And that’s just the outcome of meetings had out of necessity – how can Alec explain the anticipation fluttering in his stomach at the end of each day, waiting for Magnus to knock on his door with a smile full of mischief and a bottle full with the sweetest of wines, the coil of heat low in his stomach at the sight of Magnus' collarbones peeking out from the loose collar of his exquisite tunics? How can he explain waking up before sunrise to converse with him on the balcony overseeing the east side of Alicante, voices gentle out of respect to the still sleeping city?

“There are whole other worlds, Alexander,” says Magnus, putting his weight on his forearms as he leans against the railing. “Don't you ever want to see what's out there?” And maybe Alec does – or did – but after these weeks with Magnus – he can't imagine what he could have left to discover that would be more wondrous of a creation than this man in front of him. 

“Maybe one day,” says Alec at last. He watches the rising sun set the sky alight, but next to Magnus – he finds the sight to be wanting. 

Magnus makes a considering sound, and with a wave of his hand conjures a bright yellow flower. “An iris,” he explains, offering it to Alec. Alec is careful as he takes it, considerate of the fragile petals and how they could be crushed so easily in his large, battle hardened hands. 

If it was hard to meet Magnus’ eyes before this – now it’s very well impossible with his burning ears and cheeks. 

“They aren't native to Idris but they make up entire valleys if you go further south.” A brief pause, and then– “I think you'd find it beautiful, Alexander.” 

Feeling overwhelmed and not sure why, Alec looks down at the delicate flower in his hands. “Thank you for this,” he says, and then– “I don’t have anything for you in return.” 

Magnus scoffs. “I have everything that a hundred men could ever need,” but the frown on Alec’s face tell him that it’s not a good enough answer. Such a lovely, stubborn man, Magnus thinks fondly. 

“How about this,” he says, struck with bravery and inspiration so wondrous that it has his heart beating like a hummingbird’s. “In exchange for this–” he taps the yellow iris, “–you accompany me the next time I visit the valley of the sun, after we deal with the pesky issue of your fate.”

Alec doesn’t have experience with love in this particular form but Magnus is all too familiar with the symptoms. The pleased, bewildered smile on Alec's face makes Magnus want to reach out and touch the corner of Alec's mouth, press that fleeting glimpse of happiness against his skin.  


“Yes,” promises Alec, voice rough. It seems like the wildest, most indulgent dream to think of a life – after, but Alec finds his heart getting attached to the thought already, never mind the infinitesimally small chance that it’ll come to pass. “If I’m still here after everything’s over – then yes. It would be my honour to go with you.”

 

v. 

Everyone is braced for a strike on Alicante for weeks: it's the stronghold against this fight against the demons and more importantly, the clock is ticking down and the city is where Alec is. 

But when it finally happens, it's not Alicante that is ambushed – instead it's a coordinated attack across the rural villages of Idris. Villages that have only a handful of shadowhunters posted as the only means of defence. 

Magnus opens up portal after portal to the areas under attack which the soldiers under Alec's command gallop through. He's diligent to close them immediately after, lest a demon sneaks its way right into the heart of the glass city. To Alec. 

Of course, Alec's riding out as well – mounted on a beautiful chestnut stallion and leading the last of the squadrons. Tucked into his breastplate is a yellow iris. Magnus’ gaze is ensnared by the barest hint of the sunny petals peeking out but before he can react, Alec is jumping off and taking Magnus’ hands in his own, pressing something soft into Magnus’ palms. 

When Magnus looks down, he sees that it's a red and gold trinket riddled with angelic runes. 

“I've been meaning to give this to you for a while,” says Alec, unable to meet his eyes. “It's an amulet for protection. That big rune right there means safety–” Magnus knows this, but he seems to have lost his voice– “and the others are deflection, shield, luck, health, longevity…” 

Alec’s shoulders curl in as his list trails off. “I – I asked the Silent Brothers to bless it, and. And now seemed like the best possible time for it to come into use.”

There's a buzz in Magnus’ ears and a boulder pressing down on his chest. “Thank you,” he says at last, curling his fingers around the gift. “This is – I will treasure it always.” 

Relieved, Alec nods and prepares to leave. “Wait until you get your strength back,” he says to Magnus, “and then you can meet Izzy in the west.” Out west is more populous, but the veil between the two worlds is the weakest in the east, where Alec is heading. Magnus is– 

Magnus is here for a very specific reason. He wants to be beside Alec for this fight but the facts are that Alec’s thought this through, and Magnus was there in the war chamber, listening to him give a brisk overview of the strategy. This really is the best way to allocate the strengths of those available. It’s better to have Magnus save the lives of all those villagers than go along with a group of the best warriors Idris has to offer. 

They’ve fended off worse before without Magnus there. “Very well,” he says, and the two words leave a bitter taste in his mouth. He thinks that the same hardness is present at the corner of Alec’s eyes.

Magnus draws on the magic inside him to open one last portal. He’s never really thought of it as a tear through time and space, not until he watches Alec steel his shoulders and gallop through, engulfed by the cosmos. 

 

vi.

The aftermath is – frustrating. It's the same thing that's been happening since shadowhunters had to become a necessity. React, defend, tamper down that endless well of grief until these creatures from the underworld are either destroyed or driven back to hell. Pray that the souls of the fallen are passing on between the wings of angels. Go to sleep and hope that upon waking this would all have been a dream. 

Alec’s almost twenty-five but he feels like he’s approaching eighty. He can’t imagine the toll this fight has taken on the generation before his, and on the one before them – always, always waiting for the next attack. He comes back from the eastern front, leading a group of thirty when he left with a hundred, and immediately summons a meeting in the war chamber. He doesn’t take a moment to remove his armour or drop off his weapons for cleaning. 

There’s a new scar cutting through one of Alec’s brows, and Magnus can see the tail end of _iratze_ burned into Alec’s collarbone. 

There is nothing on his face except grim resolution. “In three days, after we’re done honouring the dead,” Alec says, “and once we’ve had enough time for our forces to recover – we’re going to be changing how we do things. We’re not going to wait around for the next strike anymore. We’re taking the fight to them.” 

There’s absolute silence. Fine, thinks Alec, turning to Magnus. “We’ll take care of building the army but – for this to have a chance at working, I’ll need your help to seal the doors once we’re there. You and anyone else you can think of who is willing.”

“This is madness,” says Aldertree, but Alec doesn’t look away from Magnus, and Magnus– 

“Yes,” he says, because what other possible response can he have? There’s nothing Alec could ask of him that he would deny and when he says, “I’ll do whatever you need,” Magnus is certain this indefensible weakness is known by each and every soul present in this room – except perhaps for Alec himself.

They prepare themselves for the final campaign in a long and tiring war. 

 

vii.

The night before they ride out to the gates underworld, Alec finds Magnus in his chambers and it’s like that first time all over again – Magnus looks beautiful and otherworldly in his silk tunic, a wine goblet cradled in his slender fingers. He’s looking out through his window to the inky black sky. Alec’s heart feels too big for his chest when he sees that Magnus has fashioned a necklace out of the amulet, which looped around his neck on a leather cord.

“You’re quiet,” says Alec, when Magnus doesn’t say anything. 

“Just thinking,” is Magnus response. “One way or another, what starts tomorrow will go down in the history books.” 

He sets down the goblet on the windowsill and when he turns around, heartache is apparent in the softness in his eyes. “I’m – struck with some melancholy, I suppose. I’ve fought in and lived through many wars over the centuries and I don’t doubt that I’ll make it through this one. Your people will as well.” 

He raises a hand, almost against his will, and rests it on Alec’s chest, right above his beating heart. “But I fear what this might mean for you. I feel as though you’re riding right into the heart of Abaddon’s curse and I’m not – I’m not sure if my spell will be enough to stop it.”

Alec shakes his head. “You shouldn’t worry about me,” he says, and briefly, Magnus’ loses the despondent look on his face to look exasperated, gaze moving heavenward. “You shouldn’t,” insists Alec even though he’s baffled and pleased to know of it, “because I’m not afraid, Magnus.” 

Magnus sighs and says, “Well, that’s very nice, Alexander, though I must admit I don’t understand _how_ since you of all people should be the most worried.”

Helplessly, Alec finds the words he sought out Magnus tonight to say: “It’s because of you,” and when Magnus breath hitches in his throat, startled by Alec’s admission Alec – Alec kisses him, tugs Magnus close by the swooping collar of his tunic and hopes Magnus understands what he means: if the key to breaking the curse is love and this is the way Magnus sets all of Alec alight with such ferocious tenderness and desire – what does Alec have left to fear?

He only pulls away to look at Magnus’ beloved face, to make sure that this isn't just a dream and concludes that it can't possibly be – Alec could never have conjured up the soft press of Magnus’ mouth and the sweep of magenta at the roots of his lashes, the shivers racing up his spine from Magnus’ fingers resting at his neck. 

“I'm not afraid,” murmurs Alec. “Because I’m in love with you, and if true love’s needed to break this spell then – well, you know what you have to do when it catches up to me, don’t you?”

All those years ago when Magnus twisted that terrible dark magic into something a shade lighter, a shade more palatable to the heart – he never could have seen this coming. There must be so many people drawn to Alexander’s particular brand of light, and to think that Magnus is the one to inspire the kind of love needed to overpower the mark of a greater demon is just. It’s unfathomable.

And yet here they are, Alec standing in front of him with his mouth the loveliest hue of red, eyes heavy with affection. 

“Yes,” he finally answers, and makes a promise to them both that this is not the end. With a million wings fluttering in his stomach, he draws Alec back in. “Yes – I know exactly what I have to do.” 

And as they kiss – again and again and again – Alec is certain that the love coursing through his heart frees him from a decades old curse before it ever has the chance to ignite.

 

viii.

The day Alec turns twenty-five, Magnus wakes up first with the sunrise. Alec is curled up beside him, breathing soft and steady. There’s a hint of a wrinkle between his heavy brows – so serious, his Alexander – even in sleep. He’s so lovely that all of Magnus aches looking at him, sometimes, all the way to the marrow of his bones. 

And as always, when it gets like this, Magnus can’t help but try to abate that ache by leaning in and pressing a kiss to Alec’s mouth, the simplest, briefest of actions to translate this truth inside him into something tangible. 

Alec’s face changes into something vaguely irritated, as it always does in the moment he transitions from slumber into wakefulness. He blinks open his eyes, confused, but the moment his gaze focuses on Magnus his expression turns soft, almost sweet. “Morning,” he says, voice scratchy with sleep. 

“Good morning, Alexander,” greets Magnus, voice soft. “You made it.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! please feel free to drop a comment if you enjoyed :D


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